


Doctor's Orders

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Commission fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: Ambulon is helpless. First Aid is clueless. Ratchet just wants them to sit down and have a conversation about their feelings for once.





	Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lintu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintu/gifts).



Ambulon blamed those damn Autobot badges for everything that followed. 

Not that all the ensuing events were _bad,_ per se - the majority were quite the opposite, in fact - but for all the inner turmoil and rechargeless nights that came coupled with the more pleasant consequences, he’d pin the blame on that one incident in First Aid’s hab-suite.

He’d simply been tasked with delivering a datapad. Ratchet had handed it over with little more explanation than a few words about “spiritual slag” - what Ambulon would come to realize was the C.M.O.’s epithet for alternative forms of medicine - and a directive to pass it along in First Aid’s direction.

Ambulon had begrudgingly accepted the busy-work while Ratchet engrossed himself with treating the next patient, offering his subordinate little more than a dismissive wave and an “off you go.” 

It hadn’t taken long for First Aid to lapse back into his habits from Delphi. While off-duty, the nurse was inclined to retreat to his hab-suite and fixate on whatever obsession currently held his attention, Ambulon figured, whether it be the Autobot badges he’d brought along from his substantial collection or research pertaining to various medical practices; the latter of which Ambulon carried as he knocked on First Aid’s door. 

“It’s open,” came First Aid’s muffled response.

The nurse’s lax attitude towards security never failed to amaze Ambulon, who shook his head as he triggered the door to slide open. His optics took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting before his gaze gravitated towards the figure hunched over the desk in the corner. First Aid was illuminated by a single light as he went about his work, his digits never ceasing their meticulous motions. 

Ambulon cleared his intake and said, “Delivery from Ratchet. He said it might interest you.”

First Aid, still occupied with whatever it was he’d been fiddling with, simply held out a hand to accept it. 

Ambulon’s lips pressed in a stern line as he made his way over. 

“Ratchet’s got you running errands like this for him?” First Aid asked as he accepted the datapad without a glance. 

“Not too different from when we were working with Pharma,” was Ambulon’s terse reply. He peered down to get a glimpse of First Aid’s current fascination and felt a weary tug on his spark when he discovered it was yet another Autobot badge. “I see you’re doing more or less the same as well.” 

“Just think of it as a hobby,” First Aid said. Seemingly pleased with his examination, he set the badge aside and swiveled his chair around to face Ambulon. “It’s nice to have an old comfort around, considering how much things have changed lately.”

“I was hoping the change of scenery might help you get over this obsession of yours,” Ambulon remarked. He scratched as his shoulder, wincing when some of the paint came peeling off. “It’s unbecoming of the future Chief Medical Officer to be preoccupied with something like this.” 

He gestured at the wall overlooking First Aid’s desk, which had already been turned into a display for the Autobot badges that had been salvaged. Curiously, quite a few of them seem to have been punctured in the right eye - far too many for it to be a coincidence - but Ambulon dismissed that thought.

First Aid, apparently unfazed by the chastisement, stood up and began examining Ambulon’s shoulder. His digits moved with a gentleness yet surety that was often the mark of a seasoned medic, and Ambulon, completely taken aback by the sudden contact, could only manage to stutter out a, “W-What are you doing?”

“You’re still having problems with your paint job,” First Aid observed. He took a step back and examined Ambulon’s frame, one hand tenderly placed on each of Ambulon’s shoulders as he did so. “I’d be glad to help you with that sometime.” Then, with a teasing lilt to his vocals in place of a smile, he added, “It’s unbecoming of an esteemed medic like yourself to be seen in such a state.”

First Aid’s visor and faceplate didn’t allow for much in terms of expression, but Ambulon could nonetheless feel the warmth radiating from his fellow medic; enough so that he sheepishly looked away, suddenly fascinated by the wall. 

“I haven’t really had a chance to fix it since we got here,” he murmured. “Considering what happened with Fortress Maximus, and then Rung...”

“That’s true.” First Aid approached his desk once more, granting Ambulon enough space for him to let out a shaky ventilation. “But things have been a little calmer since then. You just let me know if you ever want me to help you with that.” 

Ambulon watched as First Aid traced his digit along the grooves of the badge he’d been tinkering with. “Sure. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” First Aid said. He picked up the badge as if he were about to give it yet another thorough inspection, but then held it up against Ambulon’s chestplate. He hummed to himself as he did so - Ambulon had become accustomed to hearing such vocalizations as First Aid went about doing the more menial tasks in the medbay - then nodded, as if satisfied. “It suits you.”

The badged rested right up against Ambulon’s spark casing. He briefly wondered if First Aid could feel the arrhythmic pulsing of his spark beneath the plating. “I’m sure Pharma would disagree.”

He could hear the scowl in First Aid’s voice. “What Pharma thinks about your allegiance doesn’t matter now. It never did. But _I_ think that it’s a good look for you.” First Aid took Ambulon’s hand, uncurling it so he could place the badge in his open palm. “Keep it, please. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but keep it as a reminder to yourself.”

After an awestruck moment Ambulon’s digits curled around the badge. The force of his grip spoke volumes about his reluctance to let the gift go.

**______________________________**

Ambulon had thought he could simply tuck the badge away in the safety of his hab-suite and forget about it during the day cycle, and for a time such a simple tactic had worked. The deluge of patients they were swarmed with after nearly every one of the crew’s forays, it felt like, left the three medics with little time for idle hands and thoughts. Quiet moments of contemplation and reflection were a rarity; one that he thought he’d value on those occasions where he finally was granted a respite from it all, but soon came to realize were more of a curse than a blessing.

Because it seemed that nearly every free moment he had was spent replaying the events in First Aid’s hab-suite, First Aid’s words constantly looping through his processor like some sort of mantra while while the badge buried beneath datapads and a stash of energon treats beckoned to him.

He quickly came to crave those tumultuous moments spent running around the medbay from patient to patient. Hectic as it was, at least with the well-beings of his crewmates in his hands he didn’t have time to dwell on the sincerity with which First Aid had defended his Autobot loyalty, nor the way his spark stuttered and his circuits hummed at the memory. 

Ambulon had intended to keep his troubled state of mind as hidden as the insignia that caused it, but somewhere along the way he’d slipped up.

“You’re keeping busy,” Ratchet commented one day after their last appointment. He was scrutinizing a medical record on a datapad while Ambulon bustled around, gathering up the supplies that still needed a thorough cleaning. “Any particular reason?”

“There’s always something to be done,” Ambulon replied simply, though despite his attempt at composure he dropped a laser-scalpel, causing Ratchet to look up and regard him with a raised brow.

“I appreciate the work ethic, but we do have a drone for tasks like this,” he said as he watched Ambulon scramble to retrieve the instrument. “You’re not going to do anyone any favors by burning yourself out like this.” 

Ambulon startled when he suddenly felt the weight of Ratchet’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Take the rest of the night off, Ambulon,” Ratchet murmured. “I don’t know if you’re trying to prove yourself or what, but you’ve done quite enough work lately. Rest.”

“I’m fine,” Ambulon insisted. His joints creaked as his grip tightened on the scalpel.

Ratchet’s gaze was uncompromising. “Doctor’s orders. Get a decent night’s recharge for once. Unless,” he added, folding his arms across his chassis, “there’s something wrong. Something I can help you with.”

When Ambulon didn’t immediately reject the offer, Ratchet pulled up two chairs and gestured for him to sit. Ambulon, after setting down the scalpel and cycling a steady ventilation, complied. 

“I don’t doubt your dedication to your work,” Ratchet began as he took a seat himself. “But lately you’ve been the first one here and the last one out every day. Even when you’re off-duty I’ve seen you hanging around here doing something. And let’s not mince words here, Ambulon: it’s unhealthy.”

Ambulon’s hands were splayed on his thighs as he sat and attempted to maintain contact with Ratchet’s steely optics. A few flecks of his undercoat glared back at him when he averted his attention downwards, and he picked at them with a digit as he spoke. 

“I prefer to keep myself busy,” he said, the waver in his vocals betraying his apprehension. “It’s better that way. We never know when we’ll be thrown into another emergency situation.”

Ratchet’s stare bore right through to Ambulon’s spark and left his tank churning. “I realize it must be difficult to adjust after what you went through at Delphi, but you’re allowed some time to breathe. Running yourself into the ground will only bring us all down when there’s an emergency, you know. We can’t afford to have a single one of us out of commission. So,” Ratchet said, leaning forward and clasping his hands - hands that had, until recently, been pulling the plug on lives as opposed to saving them, “I would appreciate it if you were honest and told me what’s troubling you.”

“I didn’t take you for a psychiatrist,” Ambulon said, managing to crack a hint of a smile. “I was under the impression that that was Rung’s job.”

Ratchet chuckled, and Ambulon appreciated the way the malleable metal around his optics seemed to crinkle. “I may not have a degree in psychology, but I can still take care of my own, thank you. After being in this line of work for a few million years I’d like to think that I can at least help to alleviate the worries of those in my care.”

“If honesty’s what you’re looking for, then I have to tell you that it’s - well, pretty trivial,” Ambulon admitted as he gave the back of his head a rub.

Back to business once more, Ratchet replied, “I’ve seen some things in my day. I doubt it’s anything I haven’t dealt with. Hit me.”

Ambulon pulled out the badge that had been the source of all his woes and offered it to Ratchet. “I’d had it stored in my room at first, thinking I’d just forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind,” he explained, watching as Ratchet accepted the badge. His hand felt achingly empty without it. “But that wasn’t the case, so I figured I might as well just keep it with me if it I was going to cause me so much trouble anyways.”

Ratchet cleared his intake. “I see,” he said, turning the badge over in his hands and examining it from all angles. He narrowed his optics as he did so; perhaps they were simply past their prime and could no longer discern the most minute details, such as whatever qualities made the sigil so troublesome. “Care to elaborate?”

“It was a gift,” Ambulon said. “From - from First Aid.” 

“Ah,” Ratchet said. Then, with a glint in his optics and teasing lilt in his tone he added, “I was afraid you hadn’t invited me to the ceremony.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ratchet handed back the badge with a newfound sense of care. “So it’s not from Rodimus, but from our future C.M.O. I’m surprised he’d part with one. First Aid seems so fond of that collection of his.”

Ambulon’s frowned at the mention. “He is. Too fond, I believe. It’s why he was diagnosed with-”

“Obsessive compulsive tendencies,” Ratchet finished. “Yes, I’m aware. Which makes it all the more remarkable that he’d part with one. Whatever point he wanted to make in giving this to you,” Ratchet said, giving the badge a tap, “he truly meant it. Did he tell you why he entrusted it to you?”

“As a reminder,” Ambulon murmured, recalling the warmth and weight of First Aid’s hand in his own as he’d bestowed the insignia with those parting words about allegiance. “Of where I am now.” 

“An Autobot.” Ratchet studied the way Ambulon’s digits curled around the badge as if it were a lifeline. “Did Pharma,” and he paused to clear the static from his vocals once the name had left his lips, “give you any doubts, when he attempted to place the blame on you?”

Ambulon’s laugh was humorless; a dry, scathing sound. “I’d say he just made the ones I already had that much worse. Having those who are supposed to be my allies suspect me isn’t exactly anything new.” He continued to pick at the spot on his thigh, grimacing at the chips of paint that came flaking off but not finding the willpower to stop. “I’m sure being so close to the DJD didn’t really help my case. I can’t really blame those patients who refused to let me handle their care.”

Ratchet’s arms were folded across his chest, his expression unreadable. The stern line of his mouth and the hard blue of his optics did little to betray his thoughts, but mercifully he broke the silence.

“I’m going to give it to you straight, Ambulon: it’s not going to be easy. You’re on an Autobot ship fresh out of a war. Some of us are still grieving, most of us are still trying to find ways to cope, to trust again. You’re going to have encounters with crewmembers who will doubt you. Just look at Drift,” he added, his tone turning acidic. “He works his aft off everyday to prove his change of spark and loyalty to the Autobot cause, yet he’s still subject to thinly-veiled suspicion wherever he goes. _Cyclonus_ isn’t even a Decepticon, and you’ve seen how the crew treats him. 

“But you listen to me, Ambulon,” Ratchet said with a sense of command that left Ambulon sitting up straight at attention and with a newfound understanding of how the senior medic had garnered so much respect, “First Aid is right. You may not be able to hide your past - figuratively or literally,” he added, shooting a pointed look at where Ambulon had been scratching, “but you’ve made your choice, and it’s something that should be respected. So you keep that badge, and whenever you start to doubt yourself you remember the faith that First Aid has in you. That _I_ have in you. Are we clear?” 

Ambulon, despite feeling floored by the intensity and conviction with which Ratchet had delivered those words, managed a nod. “I understand. Thank you, Ratchet.” 

“You may not be my patients, but you’re still in my care,” Ratchet said with a smile that left Ambulon’s spark pulsing in staccato bursts and the energon in his lines running warm. “And like hell I’m going to let you run yourselves into the ground over something like this. But, I get the feeling that that’s not all there is to this. You’d said it was something trivial, and I’d say this is anything but.”

“Nothing gets past you,” Ambulon said, one part admiration of Ratchet’s perception, one part cursing his word choice and dreading the consequences. “It is. Trivial, I mean. And it’s nothing to waste your time with. You’ve done enough for me as is.”

Ratchet raised a brow. “If you really don’t want to tell me, that’s your decision. But judging by your coping methods I’d say that keeping it to yourself hasn’t done you any favors.”

Ambulon took a moment to assess his options: spilling his innermost thoughts - or what was left of them to be shared - to his superior, or withdrawing back into copious amounts of labor and the stashes of energon he kept hoarded away in his hab-suite. 

Neither seemed particularly appealing.

“I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately,” Ambulon began. His voice was little more than a gentle murmur, and Ratchet had to lean in and adjust the sensitivity of his audials. “And when I do I can’t focus on anything else. It’s not just the badge. Everything about that whole, that _incident_ has stuck with me. I can’t get it out of my head - what he said to me, and how he even offered to give me a new paintjob. I can even almost...” he paused, recalling that tingly feeling that had hummed along the circuitry of his hand. “...Like I said, it’s nothing that I should be worrying about. And I want to assure you that I won’t let something like this affect my performance.”

Ratchet’s expression was unreadable as he asked, “That’s it?”

Ambulon’s chest felt tight, his mouth uncomfortably dry. “Yes.”

Ratchet suddenly seemed enthralled by his hands, which captured his gaze as he furled his digits and said, “I think you’re going to be just fine.”

Now it was Ambulon’s turn to regard Ratchet with skepticism. “You ‘think?’” he repeated, noting the sudden lack of conviction that Ratchet had spoken with throughout their conversation. 

Ratchet coughed. The sound rang unnaturally loud in the empty medbay, and Ambulon could have sworn that the renowned C.M.O. himself almost looked sheepish in that moment. “I can’t say for sure, but given the facts you’ve presented, I’d say yes.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” Ambulon asked, not allowing such a rare opportunity for snark to pass him by. 

“Alright, alright,” Ratchet said, abruptly standing up from his seat and gesturing for Ambulon to do the same. “We’ve spent enough time on this as is. You’re off-duty now, remember? So go and get some rest for once.” He began herding Ambulon towards the door, and the younger medic could do little more than allow himself to be pushed along. “No excuses. I’ll assign someone to make sure you do, if it comes down to that.”

“Yes sir,” Ambulon said, slightly dazed as he found himself escorted over the threshold and out of the medbay. 

Before the doors closed, however, Ratchet poked his head out and said, “And have a conversation with First Aid already. It’ll - it’ll help. Trust me on this one, and promise me that you’ll do it.”

Ambulon nodded before finding himself face-to-face with the cold, unyielding metal of the medbay door.

He wasn’t sure if he felt more or less out of sorts now than he did when he sat down to have that conversation, and as he made his way to his hab-suite thoughts of First Aid and Ratchet warred for dominance of his processor. 

**______________________________**

First Aid had the suspicion that Ambulon was ignoring him.

Whereas just days before the former-ward manager had been a constant presence in the medbay - on shift or not - he was inexplicably absent in his off-hours all of a sudden. Which, in First Aid’s mind, would be all well and good; a little rest could go a long way, and it was about time Ambulon permitted himself some. 

But when their shifts did happen to overlap, he could only describe Ambulon’s behavior as some curious mix between flighty and aloof. To be fair, Ambulon had never exactly been the most outspoken of individuals, and First Aid often did find himself initiating conversation between them, but a seemingly steadfast dedication to avoiding all optic-contact and touch? Fleeing the room without so much as a glance backwards as soon as his shift was over? Punctuality was a trait that First Aid had long ago ascribed to Ambulon, rudeness was not. 

He’d considered asking Ratchet about the matter. He figured someone as perceptive as the C.M.O. would have some sort of inkling as to what had gotten under Ambulon’s plating. And, true to his assumptions, it appeared that Ratchet had observed the sudden change in behavior. 

However, as opposed to taking charge of the situation and having a conversation with his wayward subordinate, Ratchet took an infuriating stance of non-interference and settled for a few disapproving glances and a held glossa that First Aid just knew was begging to say something.

When Ambulon delivered the requested soldering iron to First Aid by placing it on a surgical tray as opposed to risking contact by putting it in his outstretched hand, First Aid set down the ratchet he’d been holding - rather forcefully, judging by the clattering noise it made against the metal of the tray and the way it made Ambulon startle - and decided to hell with dancing around the subject. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” First Aid began, straight to the point. “Why, Ambulon? Have I done something wrong? Did I hurt or, or upset you in any way? If I have, you can tell me. Because _this,_ ” and he gestured at Ambulon’s hand that had been holding the iron, the way it was withdrawn and held tight against his chest, “isn’t going to work, professionally or otherwise.”

First Aid noticed the way the tubing of Ambulon’s intake flexed, the way he opened his mouth and closed it before finally saying, “I’m sorry?”

Ambulon was taller, but in that moment he felt himself withering in the face of the fiery gaze that he knew was beneath First Aid’s visor. The nurse had never been known to be a temperamental one, yet Ambulon had been privy to a few moments where that passion of First Aid’s seemed to ignite something within in him, and the mild-mannered medic became something of a firebrand. 

He’d just never expected to be on the receiving end.

“You should be,” First Aid said, optics narrowed as he squared up against him. “I’ve been worried about you, you know. First you started acting weird, and I figured it must’ve just been because you were having trouble adjusting. I get that. But lately? This whole, whole avoiding me like I’m the rust plague, or something?” He tone softened, less accusatory and more like an entreatment. “It isn’t like you. And if there’s anything I can do to help fix it, I want to. But you’re going to have to talk to me first.” 

The proximity of First Aid’s frame made his spark pulse erratically. The smaller bot had situated himself up close as he stood his ground, hands planted firmly on his hips and a tautness to his jaw that would’ve been accompanied by a stubborn frown. Ambulon glanced over his shoulder, optics pleading for assistance, but Ratchet had apparently vacated the medbay at the first sign of confrontation between them.

He was on his own, and he’d made a mistake by showing a sign of weakness in front of a particularly determined First Aid.

“I’m afraid Ratchet won’t bail you out of this one,” First Aid said, “so let’s just talk this over, you and me, ok?”

Ambulon gave an acquiescent nod. 

“Good.” First Aid cycled a vent and allowed his arms to relax by his side. His whole posture sank into a less confrontational stance, yet the odd sort of thrill that Ambulon felt at being subjected to the more no-nonsense, domineering side of his colleague left his sensor-net humming with a residual charge.

“I thought it’d be easier this way,” Ambulon began, rather cryptically. “The less time I spent with you, the less I’d dwell on, well.” He waved; a frustratingly vague gesture. “That was how I saw it, at least. Ratchet disagreed. He told me to do the exact opposite, and as it turns out he was probably right. Though I didn’t exactly have the guts to do it and, well, here we are.”

First Aid’s digits drummed against his side. The pattern was one that Ambulon had come to have a certain familiarity with, witnessing it whenever First Aid was faced with a challenge. Ambulon briefly wondered if he counted the beats each time, or if it was simply an act of pure impulse.

“You’re not making a lot of sense, Ambulon. Could you explain what you mean?”

“What I mean,” Ambulon said, retrieving the badge that was his constant companion, “is this. This and that conversation we had a few weeks ago.”

“You kept it,” First Aid murmured, and he reached out to touch the insignia as if to affirm its presence. “I didn’t know that you would, honestly. I realized afterwards I kind of forced it on you, and...” He trailed off, his inspection coming to a halt as well. “Did I - step out of line with what I said or did back then? If I did I’m truly sorry, Ambulon. That hadn’t been my intention.”

“No!” Ambulon blurted out. “No, that’s not it. I just - well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” He focused on the badge in his hand in the hopes that not facing First Aid would help to mitigate the warmth blooming in his chest and blazing in his energon lines. “What you said to me. Did for me. Even promised to do for me. I haven’t done a good job of showing it but, it meant a lot to me. Honestly.”

“Oh,” First Aid said simply. He rocked back and forth on his feet as he processed that. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. You had me worried that I’d really messed something up between us.” He let out a relieved laugh and attempted to regain some stability in his leg servos. It hadn’t struck him until then that, despite all his prior forcefulness, he’d been shaking slightly during their conversation. “Because - look, I know we were never really closer than just colleagues at Delphi, but I’d hoped we could change that, now that we’re here.”

Ambulon managed to pry his optics away from the badge. “Really?”

“Really. I’d thought giving you a fresh coat of paint might be a good excuse to talk to you outside of work.”

“So you did have an ulterior motive,” Ambulon said, cracking a smile.

“Asking you out for a drink or to movie night right away seemed a little forward,” First Aid chuckled. “But I would still like to help you clean up some of those spots. We can’t have you meeting the Knights of Cybertron with flaky paint, can we?”

Ambulon could envision the grin that First Aid surely would have flashed in that moment. “Fair point. They might mistake me for a Decepticon.” 

“Self-deprecating humor. I wouldn’t have guessed that you had that in you.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Ambulon said. “And I’d be - I’d be happy to tell you more about them at Swerve’s sometime.”

First Aid didn’t comment on the slight stutter, and had to take a moment to clear his own static-laden vocals before saying, “How bold. I could swoon.”

“‘Could?’” Ambulon ventured.

“We’ll see after I’ve had a drink or two,” First Aid replied. His visor had a warm glow to it, reflecting the mirthful glint in his optics. “But will this help? With your whole being distracted, I mean.”

“I think so,” Ambulon said with a firm nod. “I figure it’s time I stopped fighting things and went along with them. And listened to Ratchet. And,” he said with a wry smile, “started being a little less of a stick in the mud.”

The plating of First Aid’s cheeks felt warm as energon pooled beneath it, but Ambulon alleviated his embarrassment with a laugh and the promise that drinks would be on him as soon as their shift was over.

**______________________________**

“He was trying to take the coward’s way out,” Ratchet groused as he went about sorting through the disinfected drill bits. After a rather uneventful shift the medbay was left empty, save for him and Drift; the latter of which was seated on one of the vacant berths. “I tell him to have a conversation with First Aid, and he ignores him for days on end.” Ratchet paused his ranting long enough to vent a sigh. “Not sure why I bother, sometimes.”

“Because you care,” Drift posited, the very image of tranquility. Ratchet scowled at the thought. “And because you’ve made that mistake yourself.”

“Don’t,” Ratchet growled, but Drift ignored the warning. As he was inclined to do. 

“So you know what the stakes are,” Drift pressed on. He remained seated, his legs crisscrossed and his spinal-strut straight, and despite his rather incendiary words he looked as if he could have lapsed into meditation at any moment. “I’m not saying things would turn out as bad for them as they did for you, but you know the consequences that a lack of communication can have. ”

Ratchet scoffed. “I think it’d be impossible to top what happened at Delphi.”  
“True. That’s just about the worst case scenario. But the point,” Drift continued, “is that you don’t want to see the same happen to them. Better yet, you want to see them succeed. Because you care. And _that_ is why you bother.”

Ratchet set down his tools and leaned against the counter. His grip on the edge was tight, and he still wasn’t used to the way his joints no longer groaned under the strain. “This isn’t about me and Pharma, and we’re going to end that conversation right here.”

Drift nodded. “I understand.” Then, with a noticeably lighter tone, he said, “At least Ambulon did something about it in the end, right?” Drift gestured to the berth adjacent for him, empty apart from a datapad that the two medics had left. Ratchet, much to Drift’s disappointment, had rejected the offer scrawled on it to join them at Swerve’s that evening. “It all worked out.”

“Because of First Aid, no doubt. He’s always been the one who takes charge between them.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith. Give Ambulon some credit too.”

“I’ll believe Ambulon took the initiative with that crush of his when I see it,” Ratchet said with a bark of laughter. 

They had one of those peaceful interims that they usually shared after a bout of bickering, but as always, it was tragically brief.

Ratchet blamed the brevity of these moments on Drift’s inability to keep his mouth shut. 

“You seem like you’re doing well, Ratchet,” Drift commented with a smile; not like those that he showed around the crew that radiated a superficial positivity born from expectation, but a genuine one. “Having those two around has been good for you.”

“It’s certainly been a lot less _quiet_ around here since they arrived,” Ratchet grumbled. He turned his back to Drift, opting to once again busy himself with organizing the tray of medical instruments. He’d sooner accept Primus as his savior than admit aloud that such an expression suited Drift. “Not that you’ve helped at all.”

Drift watched Ratchet go about his work for a moment, admiring the newfound fluidity with which Ratchet’s digits navigated the various equipment. “Come on, Ratchet, you know you like having me around. Just like you’ve enjoyed having First Aid and Ambulon around.” Drift hopped off of the berth and leaned against the desk Ratchet was working at, offering the C.M.O. a sly grin. “It’d make things a lot easier for everyone if you stopped playing hard to get and just admitted it. Accepted their invitation, even.”

Ratchet’s grip on the wrench he’d been holding faltered. The sensation of his hand uncurling still didn’t quite feel like his own. “It would make things a lot easier for _me_ if you let me work in peace.”

Drift laughed, the sound rich and of a soothing cadence that Ratchet had come to value in its rarity; a sound he had come to realize was often reserved for Rodimus and him alone. “Going to make us work for it, I see. That’s fine. It’ll all be worth it in the end, knowing we got someone as stubborn as you to admit you appreciate our company.”

Though Ratchet shoo’d Drift away with the wrench, he kept his audials tuned to the sound of Drift’s fading laughter as Drift departed the medbay with a wave and a threat to return soon.

**______________________________**

The changes had been relatively subtle at first, yet not a single one of them managed to slip past Ratchet’s watchful eye.

He was aware of their little rendezvous after hours, of course, but it wasn’t long before their budding relationship began to seep over into the workplace.

When Ambulon would deliver a tool to First Aid, their hands would linger in one another for a moment beyond a simple transaction; a simple gesture, one that was of no concern with regards to productivity, yet a noteworthy one all the same. They’d also developed a habit of arriving to work together, and on multiple occasions Ratchet had spotted Ambulon, ever the gentleman, waiting outside First Aid’s hab-suite to escort him. 

He’d catch the way First Aid would compliment Ambulon’s handiwork, how Ambulon always brought an extra cube of energon when the two were to be working late into the night cycle. Conversation seemed to flow easier between them, and gradually drifted away from the field of medicine and into more personal affairs.

Ratchet couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he observed them from the outskirts. And yet, despite his continuous declining of their offers for a little camaraderie after their patients had all been tended to, they continued to extend them.

Stubborn kids. He’d find their tenacity to be an annoyance if it didn’t ignite a familiar warmth in his spark. One that left him recalling his conversations with Drift and those audacious attempts to coax him into accepting these invitations. 

Ratchet had called Ambulon a coward. He wondered if Rung would accuse him of projecting. But between acting on the impulses he’d been suppressing beneath a carefully crafted, hard veneer, and risking letting Drift become privy to such doubts by allowing them to persist, Ratchet knew there was only one real choice. 

“You busy tonight?” he asked one evening. Their appointments for the day were over, the berths and equipment had been cleaned and organized, and a sense of calm had settled over the medbay in the beginning hours of the night cycle. 

First Aid exchanged a glance with Ambulon. “We didn’t have any particular plans. Why do you ask?”

He already had a hunch, and judging by the slight smile on Ambulon’s face, so did he. 

“Well,” Ratchet began before stopping to clear his intake. He brandished the bottle of engex he’d stashed away, as well as three glasses. “I thought - if you would have me, that is - that we could have a night in. Just the three of us.”

First Aid hummed as if considering the offer. Ambulon attempted to stifle a laugh.

“It’s about time,” Ambulon said before accepting one of the glasses. First Aid quickly followed suit. 

Ratchet had started to become accustomed to the bustle and noise that the pair of medics had brought with them to the medbay. But it was as they sat around, sharing engex and exchanging stories, that the space truly started to feel alive and brimming with the promise of something more. 

All because of that damn badge. He’d have to thank Drift someday for giving him the datapad that started it all.


End file.
